


Darkshines

by KaeKae



Category: Thor (2011), Thor (Comics)
Genre: Balder is as abused as ever, M/M, Mpreg, Pregnant Loki, Thor is a little jealous sometimes, and Loki is content to scheme, twins from two different fathers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-05-25
Updated: 2012-11-12
Packaged: 2017-11-06 00:09:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/412568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaeKae/pseuds/KaeKae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki would have not one, but two children gifted unto him by both of the Odinsons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. i.

**Author's Note:**

> Before you read any further, please understand that this fic is filled with pregnancy. Loki is pregnant and identifies as masculine, so this is an mpreg fic. If you are uncomfortable with pregnancy or you do not like mpreg, read no further. The conception scene will be happening, but I am unsure if I will have a graphic birth scene yet, so that is still up in the air. I will notify my readers later on when I have made a decision.
> 
> That out of the way, I want to thank my darling Nechama [Soltian] for being the driving force and muse for this ficlet collection. I'm having a lot of fun writing this and I'm very pleased that it's been so well-received - hence my transfer from tumblr onto here for easier reading. And many thanks to Ansh, Kim, and Roo for cheering me on through this and giving me all the feedback they have been; much love to both of you bbies.
> 
> For anyone new: These are all very short snapshots that I am writing this story in a non-linear manner, it's not meant to be an epic, but nonetheless could get a little confusing if you don't pay attention to the order. It's also written in present tense.
> 
> Otherwise, I hope you enjoy the story.

###  _4 Months Along_

Long fingers play across the swelling expanse of his tender stomach, brushing aside the droplets of rapidly cooling water leftover from bathing, contemplative and gentle in their ministrations. His private bath is already empty and the wraps used to dry himself discarded upon the floor for others to clean up.

“You are more of a simpleton than our brother, Balder.”

Loki’s voice is a gentle purr that coils tight around his younger not-brother’s heart, a goal sought out and relished by the elder - if the smirk that pulls at the half-Jötunn’s face when the god of Light casts his gaze down for a moment is anything to go by.

“It is only for the best, Loki—”

“Hush now.”

The green eyed god of mischief’s casual tone is a mixture of affection and condescension, commonly used by Loki as his way of showing fondness for the youngest of the Odinsons. They are not quite seven feet apart, Loki standing in absolute comfort in his natural form and Balder wrapped up in attire of deep plum, looking as ridiculous as he should.

“Thor trusts that I need no one to watch me - granted, aside from himself - and I expect the same from you. The sooner you get the idea that I am suddenly helpless when with child out of your head…the sooner the very sight of you won’t make me wish to send you back to Hel.”

And he says it all with a soft smile on his face, shrugging his black mane over his shoulder and allowing Balder to help dress him. Judging by the vaguely pinched expression on the kinder god’s face, Loki struck a nerve.

His smile only grows.

Luxurious black sateen covers his body, clasping tighter at his neck and wrists than the rest of his body, where it flows about him as though he is surrounded by smoke. No longer does it hide his pregnancy.

While Loki’s web of lies and deceit achieve the goal of hiding all he finds necessary, never once did he plan on keeping his pregnancy a secret.

This time it is necessary to be seen.

He drapes heavier robes of emerald velvet are over his shoulders and Loki rolls his eyes, feeling quite like his not-brother is purposefully trying to ruin his amusement. Antagonizing Balder is no small task - in fact, it is disgusting at times how he simply accepts whatever Loki throws at him. 

“Silence then, Balder?”

Strong, gentle hands pull Loki’s hair free from under the clothes and fingers run through it, admiring the silken feel while Loki’s eyes slide partially shut, not at all against a small moment of pampering.

Loki has allowed his to grow a few more inches over the past few months on a whim, threads of metal weaved in a few locks here and there. The attention his brothers have given to it of late is…welcome.

“I am…thinking, Loki. Perhaps you are correct. It was unfair of me to assume, especially as this is not your first pregnancy.”

“Perhaps?” A derisive snort and one of Loki’s strong black brows quirk to challenge the purse of Balder’s mouth. ”I am entirely correct.”

Nonetheless Loki nods in acceptance of Balder’s subtle apology and moves with enviable grace to the doorway. Their lessers maneuver in the shadows as torches are lit to signify the nearing of dinner time, the golden hallway starting to glow with the beauty of an almost-dusk sky.

“I am always correct.”

Loki continuously ensures it.


	2. ii.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Same warnings as always: mpreg and talk of pregnancy.
> 
> Many thanks to my darling muses.

###  _6 Months Along_

Loki’s estimations on his pregnancy are turning out to be slightly off.

He is more than capable of bearing a child, not to mention multiple children - been there, done that. He had known that a god-child would be exhausting. And two, even more so. He simply had not fully taken into account two god-children…from two different fathers.

Pregnancy is an tiresome matter enough without two unborn godlings sapping his energy for their own actions, what little they can do.

Thordóttir’s penchant for bullying Balderson, as he’s taken to calling them for he has yet to decide upon names, is amusing from an outside perspective, but internally…his ribs always disagree.

Loki inhales the icey air of Jötunheimr deep into his lungs with ease, basking in the night sky of the frozen wasteland. He will not raise his children to fear his homeworld like the children of Asgard are. From their time now in the womb to when one day they are full grown, they will never flinch from the stinging wind or shy from the vast tundras that stretch the realm.

Loki reaches from his nest of fur and scoops up a handful of snow, watching the white spill from his blue hand through half-lidded eyes. The shallow nook he is settled in overlooks the vast black sea the Jötunn both admire and fear.

Thor once remarked remarked that Loki’s own hair is the exact black, it it reflects the very same deep green under light.

_“Are you a child of ice or the sea, Loki?” Thor thought himself humorous and Loki simply rolled his eyes._

Thordóttir kicks his kidney and Loki grunts. She’s undoubtedly destined to be as temperamental as her father. Balderson, on the other hand, presses at the front of Loki’s abdomen. The expectant mother’s lips curl, his eyes flashing as he uses a single finger to trace the outline of Balderson’s foot. Meek he may be, but Loki knows that the child has strength - otherwise his sister would have consumed him long ago. 

Loki can never bring weakness into the world for it will never survive him. Like Jötunheimr, he destroys the weak and insignificant. No child of his will ever be either. the twins are fathered by princes of Asgard - one or the other to be King one day - and he, their mother, holds much power of his own. Strong they are already and age will bring them only further greatness.

Fathers destined to simply rule realms, their children…to conquer the universe. With him as their loving guide.


	3. iii.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thor has a mighty temper, but Loki has ways of talking him out of it.
> 
> This is probably my favorite so far. Many thanks to Roo for looking over it.

###  _2 Months Along_

Loki finds himself unimpressed with Thor’s latest rampage.

The Thunderer paces around his quarters; eyes narrowed, mouth twisted down, and his fingers clenching and unclenching at his sides. For all that he has grown and matured, Thor’s temper remains. But displeasure becomes the warrior’s handsome, bearded face and Loki enjoys the sight of it.

Some things may never change.

“Come now, Thor. I am in no need of a broken floor.” Loki settles his head against a fist, sitting comfortably in a chair beside a book-stacked table. “What distresses you so much that you feel the need to stomp around my room?”

“You should know exactly what has fouled my mood, Liesmith! You were not Honest with me, as you well should have been.”

Ah.

Loki hums and continues to watch Thor, eyes moving across the broad line of the Æsir’s strong shoulders. “A lie of omission is no Lie, Odinson. And you would do well to learn the difference.”

Thor turns a sharp 180, facing his raven-haired brother. Even though the green-eyed god shed the shackle of brother long ago, Thor finds it difficult to not call him such. Especially when Loki refuses other titles – most too restrictive for his taste – leaving Thor to call him little else.

Loki is ever a creature defined only when he wishes to be.

A lesser being would wilt under Thor’s gaze, shy from the way those large hands clench and release at his sides. Loki raises his chin higher, ever amused by the god’s displays of aggression. Thor raises a hand and grasps firm Loki’s chin, thumb pressing into the swell of his bottom lip.

“A lie is a lie, Silvertongue.” Except Thor’s anger is already fading, the threat of his wrath only a front. Instead it is a prince’s bruised ego that Loki finds bared to him in the blue-grey eyes that grudgingly meet his own. Jealousy is a rare companion for a child of Odin, especially the Crown Prince, and Loki sees how it burns Thor to feel.

It is by the grace of exasperated sentiment that bids Loki to take Thor’s hand between his own and beckon Thor closer. It is only by the absolute privacy of Loki’s quarters and his own rapidly retreating temper that Thor allows himself to sit on the ground, leaning back between Loki’s spread thighs as though he is a youth once more.

Tapered fingers move through the Odinson’s golden mane – Loki is well-educated in the workings of Thor’s body by this age. He knows what spots of that hard skull to press into, how hard he needs to pull the other’s hair, and how to curl his fingers beneath that strong jawline and work those tense neck muscles. Loki finds a personal pleasure in watching how easily he can relax Thor even though it was he who had put the Æsir into his mood.

Thor’s head comes to a full rest against Loki’s slim stomach and Loki’s fingers work at braiding the thick hair he holds. “I told you what was necessary, Thor. Your child is growing within me. That was all you needed to know.”

Thor sighs, head bowing and allowing Loki further access to his hair. “Is it not necessary for me to know you carry Balder’s child as well? I thought—“

Loki gives a sharp tug on the braid held in his white fingers. “You thought what, Odinson? That perhaps your seed would be more potent than your brother’s? That yours would prevent my body from knowing that another’s was also in me? You are wrong. I am pregnant because I wish to be. Not because we have bedded, else we would have many products of our coupling running around by now.”

A sweet breeze flows through the room, bringing with it the sound of evening spars, and stirring the open book closest to Loki. Thor is silent.

“Face me.” Loki releases the god’s hair and after a moment Thor turns, up on his knees before Loki.

Loki’s pale, hairless face is blank and his eyes hold vague amusement, false truths, and untold secrets. But after a moment the smallest of smiles grace his face. “I will have you listen to me, Thor.” His hands settle on the Thunder god’s shoulders. “My body is my own and I will do with it as I please. I have borne many children and will continue to do so for however long I please.”

“I—“

“Hush.” Loki stands and Thor moves up with him, looking down at the leaner-bodied Trickster. “You are too great for pettiness to cloud your mind. You know too well that no one overshadows you in my eyes.” He fixes one of the loose braids that falls along the length of Thor’s face, conjuring a leather strap to tie it with. “If bearing you a child was the only way to express my feelings, I would have borne you one long ago. I choose to now because it pleases me to do so, not because I need to—“ His lip curls slightly. “—prove something to you. Do you understand me?”

Unspoken words linger in the Æsir’s eyes, age and wisdom of his own bringing shadows and secrets, but Loki will know them soon enough. Thor nods, slowly and moves closer. His hands no longer threaten physical violence, but affection, and he wraps them around Loki’s waist to pull their bodies together.

Loki allows Thor to push his head back with the strength of his kiss, his own hand tangling back in the blonde hair he did so love. Love. It is not a matter of if Loki loves Thor, for he does – moreso than anyone strewn across the limbs of Yggdrasil – but a matter of Thor’s desire to constantly hear it. Loki does not worship as mortals do and Thor knows that full well.

Loki smiles into their kiss and allows Thor to lift him, wrapping his legs around the other’s muscled torso as Thor carries him towards the large bed at the far wall of his quarters.

How pliant Thor becomes when Loki pulls the right strings.


	4. iv.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Frigga and Loki aren't quite two sides of the coin of motherhood, but they are an absolute delight to write together.

###  _5 Months Along_

Loki’s tolerance for the soft and gentle begins and ends with Frigga. It is she alone who can lay tender affection upon him without his say-so, for the goddess is a mother and protector of children; he dabbles in her domain far too often for him to refuse any attention she might bestow upon him.

They sit upon cushioned stools under an open sky, surrounded by carefully cultivated nature. No handmaiden or servants in sight, and though birds are singing, it is from a distance – Frigga wishes for absolute privacy. It is rare for her to close her gardens so completely, but there has been little chance for the two of them to exchange words beside few pleasantries and Frigga desires time with Loki to rectify that. And not even her husband would tempt her wrath with an uninvited entrance.

The warmth is not too oppressive to either of them, Frigga in her layered, courtly attire and Loki in his flowing robes – the fabric doing little to hide the progression into his pregnancy. Loki takes pleasure in the way both Thor and Balder are distracted by how the sleek fabric actually emphasizes his current state.

Behind him, Frigga’s humming comes to an end and his attention is hers entirely.

“Do you know what the strongest force in existence is, Loki?”

It is a question Loki has heard twice before.

_“The Norns with their threads of Fate.” He offered as a serious young child, green eyes locked onto his mother’s._

_Years later, petulant and full of self-righteous wrath, he sneered. “Chaos!”_

Now he simply smiles, false in his demure behavior. “That depends, my Lady Frigga – do we speak of opinion or fact?”

She laughs, not once faltering in the braiding of Loki’s hair, separated into silken ropes she passes between her hands. “A universal truth held to all creatures of emotion.”

Loki blinks, hand pausing in the caressing of his swollen abdomen. “All?”

“All.”

He purses his lips ever so slightly, mind offering more and more answers – with what he has learned through the years, the possibilities are endless. The silence remains until Frigga finished her task, tying his hair with thread woven by the goddess herself.

“No quick answer for me this time, clever one?”

Frigga’s voice is honey sweet and it carries no trace of malice or mockery – it is beneath her to insult someone protected by her very own Laws. Unbidden, Loki turns around and faces the All-Mother, his expression matching her serene one. She is not the twisted threads of diplomacy and war machines that her husband is, but neither is she the open book that her golden-haired eldest and soft-eyed youngest are. She is the doting mother whose actual distance from her grown children - true and false alike - borders on apathy. What are her goals with immersing herself in the theatrics his pregnancy has caused within the house of Odin?

“It is love, my green-eyed Trickster.”

Perhaps one day Loki will laugh in his not-mother’s face, dismiss her words, and leave her to weave more threads for the women who seek her advice; but today is not that day.

“Love?”

He remains the same peaceful slate and her mouth quirks. “Yes, Loki, love. And not a love limited only to the love one might hold for another, alive or dead - love for oneself, one’s ideals, one’s home…Love creates a drive, a will, to protect what you love. Bonds, laws, fate…all have broken, tempted, and ignored in the name of love.” She cocks her head, ever so slightly, grey eyes holding tight to Loki’s. “Entire families have turned on one another for the sake of love.”

Oh.

He nods and her smile brightens. “I understand, Lady Frigga.”

She reaches out, petal-soft fingers taking his own between her hands and holding them, ever the mother – ever the protector of her sons. “Little pleases me more than these children you are bearing in equal measure.” One of her hands moves down to set against the roundness of his belly. “And I want their fathers to be with them when it is time.”

She sounds genuinely saddened by such a prospect and it is Loki’s turn to hold her hand. “I swear, All-Mother, both of your sons will see their children. They have come so far without strife and this peace will continue.”

“I truly hope so, Loki.” Frigga continues to stroke the velvet pressed around his abdomen, ever so careful. “Your reassurance strengthens the hope within me. I already love my grandchildren, but I fear they will never make it if their fathers are not there to ensure their mother’s safety from the many enemies all of you have gathered through the years.”

Loki’s reply comes in the form of a smile - and never has it been brighter.


	5. v.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh goodness, bless everyone with being so patient with me. At the halfway point now. Inbetween writing my main big writing piece and work and various things, I've neglected this fic so much. Hopefully I will be able to update soon again and all can be forgiven. <3
> 
> As always, none of these characters belong to me, rights to their actual owners.

###  _8 Months Along_

“Touch me once more and I will hang your skin upon my wall, Balder!”

Loki is beyond the tactful threats demanded by courtly etiquette, although he’s never been one to fear speaking to an Odinson in such a manner to begin with. To say the expectant mother is irate would be quite like saying Thor has struggled in the past with very minor issues in egotism.

The Trickster is in his natural form, blue-skin radiating with a burning cold, clearly serious in his intent on preventing the father of one of his children from getting close to him. Just as well, however. Loki finds the thought of a few blackened wounds on the handsome god’s body from an angry, pregnant jötunn pleases him immensely. No doubt Thor would find amusement in such a sight.

Luckily for Balder, Loki is not truly in search of a confrontation. He has found a growing difficulty in performing many physically demanding activities as of late, including simple things like long walks – much to his irritation.

But Balder remains halfway across the room, in the same place Loki had shoved him. The gentle god’s only crime is witnessing Loki in a moment of weakness and rushing to his side to offer whatever aid he can.

Loki is only now wiping the blood he’d coughed up from his lips, having chosen to lash out at Balder first.

“Please, Loki, I meant no insult. I was simply—“

Balder trails off, a loving sort of sadness welling inside him at the sight of the other’s red eyes regarding him with open content, but he refuses to be shut down.

“I was concerned that it was time.”

Such a statement pulls laughter from Loki. It is thick and more blood bubbles at the corners of that wide mouth, but a smile – albeit condescending – settles upon Loki’s face.

“Think I shall give birth by coughing up and spitting out my children, do you?”

And for a moment Loki is quiet. His tongue smoothly cleans his lips of the remaining blood, fingers against his chin as he thinks over this idea.

“Perhaps I shall try that someday, but for these two…” One of his long-fingered hands rubs over his distended belly, silent against the green silk that covers his entirety. “A more practical birthing is required.”

Loki turns towards the exit, fully prepared to leave Balder alone in the room, gaping at him in such a ridiculous manner.

“Loki!”

Balder doesn’t dare run after the other, but he can’t stop himself from taking a few steps towards him, pausing as Loki does at the doorway.

“You will…You will let us know, will you not? When it is time?”

A distinct feeling quite like that of ice-tipped feathers trails down his spine as Loki’s dark head turns back towards him, rewarding him with the god’s profile. The curve of sharp white teeth is truly wicked in that blue face.

“Fear not, Balder. My children will know their fathers.”

No other words from Balder can further prevent Loki’s departure. And so the once dead, now risen god sits, his lips pulled tight into a straight line, as he fixates his sight upon the small splatter of blood that had fallen from Loki’s mouth onto the golden floor.


End file.
